"MOODY, BONES! My office, now!"
"That didn't take long," Amelia sighed as she stood from behind her desk and made her way towards Auror Grimm's office.
"Just keep your mouth shut, lass, and let me do the talking," Moody instructed, plastering a smile across his lips as they entered the room.
Grimm was pacing back and forth, his cheeks flushed in irritation.
He was an average-looking man of average build, but the thick moustache that rested atop his lip was as distinctive as the longer hair around the sides of his head. Save for that rather prominent crop, the man's scalp was hairless.
"I want one of you or both of you, I don't care which, to explain to me why I've just been put through the wringer by the Minister of bloody Magic."
"Sir?" Moody asked, feigning confusion.
"Don't come it with me, Moody. I don't have time to be fannying about today. Any other day, I might be a little more tolerant, but not today. I just don't have the time to be fannying about. Well, what have you got to say for yourselves?"
Moody did his utmost to hide his amusement from the animated man.
He tended to wave his arms around a lot when he was talking.
"Well, we heard an alarm, and we investigated it," he answered with a shrug.
"An alarm that you had no bloody business investigating!" Grimm barked. "Now, the gits in the grey cloaks wanted to wipe your memories cleaner than a new-born's backside, but they know you didn't see anything. Bloody well keep it that way and stay out of their department."
"Yes, sir," Amelia and Moody replied simultaneously.
"Now, are you any closer to figuring out who's been pilfering from the market stalls."
"No, sir," Moody answered. "We've hit a bit of a wall on that."
"Stone the bloody crows," Grimm huffed. "The Minister is tired of the complaints, and when he gets tired of something, I get it in the bloody ear from the Head of Department. I want you both to focus on it today and all night if you have to. Get yourselves in Knockturn Alley and have a feel about. It's my arse on the line here, and if you stuff it, I won't be happy."
Amelia could see Moody was doing his utmost not to snicker at the man's choice of words.
"Get out of my sight!" Grimm snapped. "I don't want to see either of you until this is dealt with."
They left the office, and Moody offered her a grin.
"You know what that means, lass."
"We have to spend the day in Knockturn Alley?"
"No," Moody snorted. "We have to spend the night there. Finish your paperwork and then get some rest. It's going to be a long one."
The man seemed too cheerful to be spending so much time in the most unpleasant place in wizarding Britain and at the most dangerous time for Amelia's liking.
Nonetheless, orders were orders, and she settled herself behind her desk once more to finish up her workload.
Moody was right.
It was going to be a long night, and knowing her partner, he would not be satisfied unless he ruffled more than a few feathers during that impending shift.
(Break)
Harry cursed under his breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned on his shovel.
He'd spent the night pondering what he was going to do. He'd not prepared for such an unexpected eventuality, and now that it had happened, he realised the gravity of the situation he faced.
Being forty years in the past was not good, and seemingly with no way to go back, he realised he could well be stuck here unless the magic somehow undid itself.
He snorted at the thought.
Magic didn't work that way, and for him and the luck he'd had throughout the years, that certainly wouldn't change.
"Bloody Fawkes," he muttered.
If he ever saw the phoenix again, he'd strangle the bird. Even if it didn't kill him, he'd give it his best shot.
The only saving grace of this entire affair was that Harry had been an Unspeakable, and he knew of resources available to him, even if they wouldn't solve all of his problems.
The biggest of those was that he was stuck in a time he was unfamiliar with and where a war was brewing.
He wanted no part of it.
Harry had already killed Voldemort once, and he had no intention of doing so again. The Dark Lord had ruined his life in more ways than one, and he wouldn't allow it to happen anymore.
Taking a sip of water, he set to work once more, cursing his blistered hands and cursing everything else that entered his mind.
"Well, thank you," he huffed sarcastically as the edge of his shovel hit something other than dirt. The dull echo of the hidden box was the only thing he'd been grateful for since arriving.
Scraping away the dirt that covered the lid, he ensured there were no magical protections around it before breaking open the lid.
Within was the stack of blank documents he was hoping to find, and he released a deep breath.
They were blank, each of them stamped with the official seal of the International Confederation of Warlocks and the seals of each country that were members.
These caches of documents were only to be retrieved in case of an emergency, and for Harry, this was just that.
The Department of Mysteries was highly secret, after all, so if someone were compromised or the department itself was under threat, they would be able to flee with all the necessary documentation to start afresh.
"Identity, apparation licence, OWL and NEWT results, and two hundred galleons," he reeled off. "Hit-wizard licence and journalist accreditation?" he added with a grimace. "Bugger that."
Carefully filling in the hole, he walked towards the village of Horsham around a few miles away, yawning from his efforts.
He'd used no magic in the vicinity of the cache, choosing not to alert any to his presence. Harry didn't know how closely they were monitored, but he did not wish to be discovered.
It was a precarious position he found himself in, though much less so now that he had the necessary documentation.
Harry knew he should report to the Head of Department, but he had not done so the night before, and having pondered it, he came to the first realisation that brought a smile to his lips.
He could start again.
The job in the Department of Mysteries had taught him a lot, and had given him skills and knowledge that no other in the wizarding world would ever be privy to, but he had only taken it because of his desire for privacy.
Here, no one knew who he was, and he could live the life of normality he'd always wanted to. The one he'd left behind had not been so good to him for the most part, but here, he could do whatever he wanted to and be whoever he wanted.
There was no boy-who-lived, no vanquisher of the Dark Lord. He could walk the streets without being accosted or pointed and stared at.
It was an unprecedented disaster and one that would take some adjusting, but here, it truly was an opportunity for a new life.
"I'll still kill the bloody bird," he murmured to himself as he approached the village, deciding what he would do first with his newfound freedom.
Maybe he would take an unhindered walk through Diagon Alley to get a feel for his new surroundings, or he could even visit Hogsmeade. He'd not seen the village in close to three years.
The world truly was his oyster.
Of course, he needed to consider a new identity and what he would do with his time eventually.
Having collated his possessions, they added up to the clothes on his back, his wand, his cloak, and around twenty thousand galleons in one of the dozens upon dozens of trunks he had removed from Gringotts.
He'd not carried around the entire sum of his fortune but always kept one trunk with him in case he needed money. He was angry at himself for losing almost everything Sirius had left him, but making money would not be difficult.
Throughout his years in the Department of Mysteries, he'd been to many places that required his expertise, and within those places were things that would make him quite a small fortune when he retrieved them, some even proving to be rather priceless.
No, money would be no issue, but obtaining them would be problematic.
There was a reason the Unspeakables were tasked with such things, though Harry felt confident enough in his own abilities to have them in his possession.
It wouldn't be difficult to find buyers on the black market who wished to own those commodities.
He nodded as his plan began to come together.
Entering the village, he made his way to the alleyway he'd arrived in.
First, he needed to secure a room until he could find a more permanent residence.
Perhaps he would see if his own house was available. It was a long shot, but Harry liked his quiet retreat. It was something else he would need to look into as soon as possible or find a suitable alternative.
"Small steps," he murmured. "Room first, and then pub," he added with a smile to himself.
It had been some time since he'd enjoyed a honeyed mead, having stuck to muggle establishments for more than two years now.
(Break)
She finished styling her hair and applying her make-up before taking in her appearance in the mirror. She kept her thick, usually red hair tied in a bun but had left it looser than she typically would whilst she was working.
For the purposes of this evening, she had changed the colour to a deep brown.
Amelia was not looking forward to this shift, but she would be comfortable out of her Auror robes. She seemed to live in the red garments, and it made a change to dress in her own clothes for once.
"Wow, do you have a date?" Edgar teased as he walked into the entrance hall of their home.
"I'm working," Amelia replied.
"Of course you are," the man chuckled. "That's all you ever do."
"Look who's talking."
Edgar nodded.
"That's fair, but I am running several businesses I know little about," he reminded her. "Father never got around to teaching me everything."
Amelia offered him a sympathetic smile.
"Doesn't Eliza mind that you're always busy?"
"No, she understands," Edgar explained. "She's great with Chris when he's home from school."
"She is," Amelia agreed.
Their younger brother had only been a toddler when their parents had been killed. Thankfully, Cleo, the family elf, had taken over with Chris for the most part, and Eliza and Edgar took care of him now he was older over the summer and Christmas when he returned home.
"Any idea what time you'll be home?"
Amelia shook her head.
"Well, let me know when you're in."
"You worry too much."
"You're my little sister, Amelia. It doesn't matter how old and ugly you get; I like to know you're okay."
"Fine, I'll let you know."
"Good, now don't you have some bad guys to catch?"
She rolled her eyes at him but laughed at his mockery, nonetheless.
Edgar had done his utmost to talk her out of being an Auror, but Amelia would not be deterred. It was her calling in life, and she would have it no other way, even if she would be spending the night amongst the dregs of society.
"I'll see you later, Edgar," she huffed.
"Be safe," he called as she vanished from the house, arriving in Diagon Alley only a moment later, where Moody was waiting for her.
"Good, you're here," he growled. "I've had a look around, and there's two places that are lively tonight. I'll take The Broken Cauldron, and you will go to The Downed Unicorn."
"We're splitting up?"
"Aye. If we want any chance of hearing anything about stolen goods for sale, we'd be better off in both places. You have your card?"
Amelia nodded.
"Give it a tap if you need me, and I'll be there in less than a minute. You can handle it, Bones."
With that, he left, and Amelia followed at a reasonable distance so that none would think they were together.
The pub she was going to was in the middle of Knockturn Alley and had a reputation for being a deeply unpleasant place. Many who had turned up dead had last been seen there, but none had ever witnessed what had happened to them.
A trickle of nervousness settled within her as she entered, not missing the furtive glances sent her way by many of the patrons.
It was indeed busy tonight, but she approached the bar and ordered a Gillywater. The barman offered her a curious glance before handing the drink to her.
Placing some change in his hand, Amelia located an empty table in the corner and took a sip, trying not to focus on the state of the glass she held.
Her gaze shifted across the room at the clientele. Many were simple drunks who came here to drown their sorrows, and others appeared to have more sinister motives.
They huddled together throughout the pub, speaking in hushed whispers, and Amelia tried her best not to garner their attention.
It seemed to be working, and as she continued forcing the drink down her, she settled into her space, listening intently but appearing to be just another customer minding her own business.
"You might as well have worn your robes and flashed your badge," a disappointed voice broke her from her thoughts.
The man who spoke had covered much of his face with his hood, though she could see his green eyes in the dim light of the pub.
"Excuse me?" Amelia questioned indignantly.
"You're an Auror, and everyone here knows it," the man murmured. "You chose a bad night to come here. The group in the corner closest to the bar are wanted for a spate of violent robberies, and the other group four tables down for racketeering. They are paranoid and think you are watching them. The barman signalled them as soon as you walked in. Now, you're either a high-class whore looking for business or an Auror. Considering you chose to drink Gillywater, I would guess the latter. Now, I would say you have less than two minutes before every door in this place is locked, and you're dealt with the only way this lot knows how."
"Are you threatening me?" Amelia hissed.
"I'm trying to save your life and risking mine to do it," the man growled. "They've seen me talking to you, so to them, I'm either one of your lot or a grass. They're going to kill me too."
"Then why would you help me?" Amelia asked suspiciously.
He grinned at her from beneath his hood.
"Lady, I've been drinking all afternoon and was enjoying myself until now. Think what you like, but I won't be a party to murder. Leave whilst you can, I will deal with the rest."
"You will deal with the rest?" Amelia scoffed.
He nodded, his grin widening.
"As long as you promise not to arrest me, I will."
Amelia tutted and rolled her eyes at him.
"Too late," he sighed.
Amelia was thrown to the floor by the force of a spell, and the sounds of splintering wood, screams, and spellfire filled the air around her.
By the time she managed to crawl behind cover and draw her wand around a minute later, the scuffle seemed to have quietened down. Peering over the upturned table, she saw the man who had disturbed her hurling another through one of the windows before pointing his wand towards the ceiling.
With an almighty crack from his spell, he shook his head at her as she raised her wand. Before she could do anything, however, he vanished into thin air, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
Carefully, Amelia stood and surveyed the scene around her.
Those who were not unconscious groaned in pain and discomfort, all of them on the ground. Some were vomiting rather violently, and an unpleasant scent filled her nose.
Amelia fought the urge to throw up herself as she simply stood rooted to the spot.
"What the bloody hell happened?" Moody asked breathlessly, entering through the doors that had been blown off their hinges.
"I don't know," Amelia replied dumbly.
"Did you do this?" Moody questioned, evidently impressed by the work.
Amelia shook her head.
"No, it was someone else," she murmured. "They knew what I was as soon as I entered."
"And someone helped you?"
Amelia nodded.
"Merlin," she whispered, "he took out the entire bar."
The place was in disarray and littered with glass, broken furniture, and patrons who were left in various states of discomfort.
"One person did this?" Moody questioned. "What a bloody mess. We'd best call it in," he added with a sigh. "Grimm is not going to be happy."
He wouldn't be, and Amelia could see a dressing down coming her way in the very near future.
(Break)
"Idiot," Harry muttered breathlessly as he arrived in his room at The Leaky Cauldron.
To think that an Auror would be so badly prepared to carry out reconnaissance on such a bar in Knockturn Alley baffled him. Did she truly expect not to be noticed?
Regardless, he knew he had to intervene.
With some of the conversations he'd overheard in that pub, the woman would've been killed to ensure none were arrested.
He'd rather have stayed out of it entirely, but when he saw the barman give his signal to both of the groups and then proceed to begin locking the doors whilst nonchalantly activating his security system, he had no choice.
Harry despised the Ministry, but he wouldn't see one of the Aurors killed because she had acted naively. He couldn't sit idly by and allow that to happen.
Still, it appeared that in less than twenty-four hours of arriving, he'd already made himself unwelcome at one establishment.
Not that he intended to return.
The mead was not what he remembered, and the hygiene left a lot to be desired.
Tomorrow was a new day, after all, and he would spend some of it looking for a house whilst planning his next moves.
How much did it cost to buy a house in 1962 anyway?
(Break)
"Looks like we're in for it now," Moody muttered as a red-faced Auror Grimm entered the pub.
"How is that when I was rudely awoken from my bed that I knew it would be because of you two?" he asked rhetorically. "What the bloody hell happened here? You're supposed to be investigating robberies, and it looks as though a graphorn has stampeded through the place."
"Sir, it wasn't us," Moody defended.
"It wasn't you?" Grimm snorted. "Then what the hell happened?"
"There was a man here," Amelia explained. "He warned me that they'd recognised me as an Auror and that they were going to kill me. I didn't listen. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor and spells were flying. When I managed to crawl to cover and tried to intervene, the man was throwing another threw the window and everyone else was down."
"One man did this?"
Amelia nodded.
"Well, where is he?"
"Gone, Sir."
"Gone?"
"He tore through the protections around this place and vanished."
"Without a by-your-leave?"
"He didn't say anything else, sir."
Grim shook his head.
"Did you at least get a description?"
"When he spoke to me, he wore a hood, but I could see bits of him. He was white, British, and had green eyes."
"And what about the barman? Surely he got a look at him."
"We are waiting to speak with him, Sir," Moody explained.
"Where is he?"
"Well, er, he's gone to change his clothes, Sir. It appears that he soiled himself."
Her partner was trying not to laugh at the plight of the barman and Grimm only became more irritated by the moment.
"Imagine running a place like this and crapping your pants at the first sight of trouble," he muttered.
Amelia didn't point out that the man had likely cursed the barman in the melee, along with the many others who were being treated by the Healers that had arrived on the scene.
"Well, we have found the people responsible for the robberies," Moody explained in an attempt to assuage Grimm's temper. "The group over there had some of the stolen goods on them and have already been arrested, along with that lot, and those in the corner who are all wanted."
"So, it hasn't been an entire balls-up," Grimm said thoughtfully. "Good, now, I want to know who this man was who intervened."
"You want him arrested, Sir?" Amelia asked with a frown.
"Look at the state of this place, Bones. If I had my way, I'd buy the bugger a pint, but the landlord here isn't going to be pleased when he's cleaned himself up."
"But he possibly saved my life, Sir," Amelia pointed out. "He warned me what was going to happen."
"And let that be a lesson to you, Bones. For now, we will tell the barman, if he kicks up a stink, that we are looking for him the man, but I don't want you wasting any more time than what you deem to be necessary on it, understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good, now, I want reports on my desk first thing about what happened here. Good god, the stench is unbearable. Go on, get to it, and I don't want a repeat of anything like this again."
The man covered his nose with a handkerchief as he spoke to some of the Healers and other Aurors who had attended.
"Could've been worse," Moody pointed out.
Amelia nodded her agreement, though she was no longer pondering the scene around her, the awful smell that, nor how busy St Mungo's would be tonight. Her thoughts were with the man who had saved her and why he had done so in the first place.
(Break)
Harry groaned as he stretched whilst he woke, enjoying the bliss of ignorance before the reality of what had happened around thirty-six hours ago weighed upon him once more.
He hadn't slept the night he'd arrived and judging by the smell wafting up to him from the kitchen below, he'd more than made up for it.
Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearing lunchtime, and he had so much to do with a considerable part of the day already having passed him by.
Showering quickly and dressing, he checked that he had everything he would need, which wasn't so much, and made his way into the busy.
"Coffee?" Tom offered.
Harry nodded appreciatively and accepted a cup.
"What's with all the excitement?" he asked, gesturing to the lively crowd around him.
"Quite the commotion in Knockturn Alley last night," Tom informed him. "Quite a few nasty people have been arrested. Here, read for yourself."
He placed a copy of The Daily Prophet on the bar, and Harry cursed internally.
Dozen Arrested in Ministry Raid!
By Albert Cuffe
He merely glanced over the article, recognising the accompanying images of the bar he was in the previous night. Thankfully, no mention of him had been made, and for that, Harry was grateful.
"Messy affair," Tom murmured, pulling him from his thoughts. "Plenty of purebloods caught up in it, and they're already complaining about a lot right now. It will mean trouble, and most will just get away with a slap on the wrist to keep their powerful relatives in line."
"Ah, the joys of political corruption."
Tom hummed disapprovingly.
"It is the way of the world. The rich will always have the advantage, even if they don't seem to understand it. Money talks as much in the wizarding world as it does elsewhere."
Harry nodded his agreement.
He'd seen it before himself with the Malfoys and other prominent, wealthy families.
"Do you know of any estate agents around here?" he asked curiously.
Tom nodded thoughtfully.
"Try Digby's towards the end of the alley. Jack is a good man, and he'll see you right if you're looking to rent or buy a place."
"Thanks, Tom," Harry said gratefully, finishing his coffee and bidding the man farewell before leaving the pub.
With it being the summer holidays, the alley was busy, but for once in his life, none paid Harry any mind, and he enjoyed the simple stroll as he took in the shops around him, some more familiar than others.
Without being hindered, he reached the estate agents in a matter of minutes, and when he entered, he was greeted by a jovial, rotund man in his middle years.
"Ah, how can I help you, young man?" he asked.
"Mr Digby?" Harry asked.
The man nodded, his cheeks wobbling slightly.
"Tom from The Leaky Cauldron recommended speaking with you about possibly purchasing a house."
"Ah, Tom is a good chap," Mr Digby said fondly. "Of course, please, take a seat and tell me what it is you're looking for."
Harry did so, and Digby's chair creaked under the strain as he followed suit.
"Well, I prefer the countryside, somewhere quiet where I won't be disturbed."
"A man who prefers his solitude. Odd for a local," Digby commented. "Any area in particular you prefer?"
Harry shook his head.
"As long as it is quiet, secluded, and private, I'll be open to whatever you can find."
Digby nodded thoughtfully as he removed a folder from the large shelf behind him.
"All of our country homes are in here," he explained before humming as he leafed through the pages. "What is your budget?"
"What are the price ranges?" Harry asked.
"Well, something a little more modest will cost around two to three thousand galleons," Digby answered. "If you want an estate, it will cost anything from ten thousand onwards."
"What about houses that may need some work? I like to add my own personal touch."
"I see," Digby said with a smile. "Well, there are a few that could use a little attention. There is what was once a livestock farm. It was used for creatures in which potion ingredients could be gathered and even wand cores. It has been uninhabited for a while, and the owner could be convinced to accept a nominal fee. It has a large house, three barns, plenty of grazing land that can be used for many purposes and is surrounded by woodland save for a private, gated entrance. It is in the Ridings in Yorkshire."
He showed Harry the available photos, and he nodded.
It did need work, but the home itself could be beautiful when it was done. He wasn't certain what to do with the land but having so much meant more privacy for him.
"What is the asking price?"
"Given the condition, which the owner has considered, he is asking for seven thousand galleons. If you are interested, I could convince him to take around six if that is within your budget."
"I'd like to see it," Harry decided.
"Excellent. Are you available for a viewing now? I have the keys and permission to show any prospective buyers around."
"I can do that."
Mr Digby stood and offered him a smile.
"I shall lead the way."
(Break)
"You're only just back?" Edgar asked as Amelia arrived home.
She nodded tiredly.
"What a night," she muttered.
"What happened?"
"Honestly, I don't know," she replied. "Can I use your pensieve?"
"Of course."
Amelia approached the stone basin her brother kept on his desk. It was the very same place her father had left so many years ago.
Placing the tip of her wand against her temple, she withdrew a short, silvery strand before placing it into the pensieve to review what had occurred in the pub.
Immediately, she knew something was off when she entered the memory, only to be engulfed by a thick smog. She could hear the muffled sounds of a scuffle but could see nothing.
When she was deposited back into the study, she frowned in confusion.
"What is it?" Edgar asked curiously.
"See for yourself."
He did so, and when he emerged, he appeared to be as confused as Amelia.
"I have no idea what I was supposed to see."
"That's the point," Amelia murmured. "The memory is gone. How can someone do that without me knowing?"
Edgar shook his head.
"What happened?"
"Well, I made an error," she admitted sheepishly. "I was recognised when I entered the pub, and a man came to warn me. He said I should leave because they were going to kill me."
"Bloody hell," Edgar cursed irritably.
"I'm fine," Amelia assured him. "Anyway, he told me to leave, I didn't, and when they attempted to attack, he took out the entire pub in less than a minute."
"Everyone in the pub?"
"Around thirty or forty people."
Edgar whistled appreciatively.
"He made a mess of the place," Amelia explained. "By the time he was done and I looked out from cover, he was leaving. He just shook his head to warn me not to attack him, and then he was gone. He absolutely destroyed the protections around the place."
"Impressive," Edgar murmured. "He must be some wizard."
Amelia nodded.
"He knew," she whispered, remembering the interaction between them. "He said it was too late for me to leave before he defended me. I didn't even get a chance to draw my wand before I was on the floor. I think he banished me away so I wouldn't get hit. He must have felt the magic of the protections fall into place."
"It takes someone really in tune with their own magic to be able to do that," Edgar pointed out.
Amelia nodded her agreement.
Feeling shifts in ambient magic was something she was working on. It was not an easy skill to master, but she was making good progress.
"Well, you'd best be grateful he was there," Edgar sighed.
"I won't make the same mistake twice."
"Good," Edgar declared. "You know, you give me so many sleepless nights when I know you're out there. I really do wish you had chosen to do something else, but I understand your reasons better than anyone else. You'll always have my support."
"Thank you," Amelia said appreciatively. "I've learned my lesson from last night."
Edgar nodded.
"Go and get some," he urged when Amelia nodded.
"I will."
She took her leave of the study and made her way towards her room. She was exhausted from her antics the night before, and then having to spend additional time filling in the necessary paperwork had left her feeling depleted.
Still, it would only be a few hours of rest before she would be needed back at the office, and Amelia intended to make the most of them.
(Break)
It truly was a peaceful house.
All Harry could hear around him was the gentle breeze through the woodland and birds singing in the distance. He liked it here, and though the home certainly needed some work, it would be a project he'd happily lose himself in.
"Six thousand galleons?" he asked Mr Digby.
"I could get the owner to accept that offer."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
He'd expect to pay much more, though he couldn't profess to have a keen knowledge of the housing market of this time. His own house, the one he'd left behind, had cost him a considerable sum, and this seemed almost too good to be true.
Nonetheless, with seven bedrooms, plenty of land, and the potential to create some outstanding magical protections to ensure his privacy, it was something he couldn't pass up.
"See what you can do, Mr Digby. "I'll gladly pay six thousand for it."
The man positively beamed in response.
"I will visit the owner this afternoon and will have an answer for you by the end of the day," he replied. "Are you staying at The Leaky Cauldron?"
"I am," Harry confirmed. "I will ensure I arrive back by five pm."
"Excellent," Mr Digby declared. "I expect I will have some good news for you."
Harry nodded.
"I look forward to your visit, Mr Digby."
Apparating back to Diagon Alley, he decided to look around a little while to see what shops were new and to gather some much-needed supplies for retrieving some items of worth.
Many of the places he'd visited had some rather unpleasant surprises waiting for him, and he would need to be equipped to tackle them.
Stopping off in the Apothecary, he purchased a slew of potions, some ingredients, and a brewing set, along with a set of additional tools.
From there, he made a brief excursion to the Magical Menagerie to obtain a few items, ignoring the owls, though he expected he would need one soon enough.
Clothing was next on his list, and though Harry was not fond of what was on offer, it would suffice for now.
With his shopping done, he purchased some food before returning to The Leaky Cauldron, where he ate in his room and perused The Daily Prophet.
Other than his own exploits from the night before, there was little of note to read, a good sign but one that wouldn't last the duration.
Somewhere, Voldemort was out there, likely gathering his allies and preparing his bid for power. It wouldn't come for some time yet, but it was inevitable.
He shook his head at the thought.
"Bugger that," he muttered to himself.
Harry would not be getting involved.
He'd already fulfilled the prophecy once, and he had no intention of doing it again.
"Excuse me, Sir?" Tom's voice called as the man knocked on the door. "Mr Digby is here to see you."
"Thank you, Tom. You can send him in."
The door opened a moment later and the smiling Mr Digby entered, holding out his arms triumphantly.
"Success," he declared. "We need now only sign the paperwork and arrange payment. The property will then be yours."
"Just like that?" Harry asked.
Digby nodded.
"The owner is keen to see the sale through as soon as possible. We drew up the relevant contract, which I shall, of course, allow you to read through. You have my personal assurance that there is nothing to cause you concern."
Harry accepted the paperwork and read it carefully.
Contracts were not something to be trifled with, and he wanted to be certain there was nothing he would disagree with.
It proved to be a rather straightforward document, outlining the value of the sale, the transfer of ownership, along with the deeds to the property and a set of keys.
When he was finished, he accepted the offered quill from Mr Digby, and Harry hesitated briefly before scrawling his signature across the bottom.
He had been pondering what name he could use.
With the potter alive and well, something he was not ready to even ponder right now, he couldn't use his own, and he certainly couldn't use the Blacks' either.
That would cause more problems than it was worth.
Ultimately, he'd decided to reinvent himself.
He had no intention of returning to the Department of Mysteries to explain what had happened, and he wanted no ties to Voldemort or to the prophecy.
It wouldn't be easy but beginning afresh truly meant he had to start from scratch.
Nonetheless, he couldn't entirely let go of his identity. Using the name Evans could be problematic in the future when his mother entered the wizarding world, so that was not an option.
No, he wanted something he could carry that meant something to him, and with any who'd meant anything to him bringing their own problems, he'd settled on one that would give him a thread to cling to, one that would honour someone he would not be here without, and a name that was not so dissimilar to one he already carried.
Returning the stack of parchment to Mr Digby, the man frowned as he read the signature and nodded satisfactorily.
"Excellent. What payment method would you prefer, Mr Jameson?"
Although it ached to lose his last name, the thought of his new one did not fill him with dread.
He was the son of James Potter, and a proud one at that.
"Do you accept cash, Mr Digby?" Harry replied, removing a sizable bag of coins from within his trunk.